SS1 Shakespeare's Daughter
by Denise Felt
Summary: When a famous actress agrees to step in and rescue the annual Shakespearean Festival at the studio, Straker is grateful. At first.


**SS-1. Shakespeare's Daughter **

**(A UFO Story)**

by Denise Felt 2009

**Chapter 1**

"Trajectory?"

Lt. Barry turned to get the coordinates from Joan at her station in the Command Sphere on Moonbase before answering her commander.

"It looks like it's heading for N-orthern Ireland, sir."

"How long till the interceptors make contact?"

"Ninety seconds," she answered.

Straker turned away from the Moonbase monitor and looked at the grid on the console nearby, watching the small blips in formation make their way toward the UFO. There was no sound in the Control room for several long moments. Then, when the blip that was the UFO blinked off the screen, there were sighs all around and talk resumed in undertones.

"Detonation positive," Nina Barry radioed from Moonbase. "UFO destroyed, sir."

"Thank you, Nina," the commander said as calmly as if they'd been discussing the weather. "Tell the pilots they did good work."

"I will, sir."

He turned communications back over to Lt. Ford and went into his HQ office. Ford watched him leave, marveling at how Straker always managed to stay so calm and confident during a crisis. He wondered if anything ever shook the Great Man up? As he turned back to his station, he saw David Gray heading out of the control room. He almost called to him, but Gray was quickly out of earshot. That was weird. David wasn't scheduled for duty today.

Then Ayshea whispered to him, "Coffee break, Keith?" And he forgot all about it as he grinned and said, "Sure. Make mine black."

* * *

Freeman followed the commander into his HQ office. Taking his time, he poured himself a drink from the corner dispenser before taking a seat in front of the desk.

"Well, Ed?" he finally asked. "What do you think?"

Straker looked up from writing his report. Seeing that his old friend wanted to chat, he clicked his pen closed and sat back in his leather chair. "I think our new upgrades on the tracking computers in the interceptors are working out very well, Alec. We haven't had any UFOs get through in over a month."

Freeman chuckled. "I know. Peter has been complaining to me about it!"

Straker grinned. "Is he getting bored on Skydiver with no UFOs to chase, Alec? I suppose I could always send him out to map the ocean floor or something to give him some work to do."

The colonel laughed. "No, Ed! Don't do that, or he'll know that I told you he'd been complaining. He's as pleased as the rest of us that our success rate has increased."

The commander sighed happily. "It feels good to be on top of things, Alec. I know it won't last long. Sooner or later, they'll come up with another way to get around us. And we'll be scrambling to get ahead again. But for right now, it feels really good."

Alec grinned at him. "That's it, Ed. Enjoy the moment."

Just then, Straker's intercom beeped. The commander answered, "Yes, Miss Ealand?"

His secretary's voice came over the intercom. "The Festival director needs to see you at the theatre right away. He says there's been an emergency."

"Alright. Has Security been alerted?"

"He said it wasn't that kind of emergency, sir," she answered.

Straker met Alec's laughing eyes with a grim smile. So. It was a personnel problem. Great.

"Thank you, Miss Ealand. I'll go right now." He clicked off the intercom and stood up, straightening his jacket. He looked at his friend ruefully. "Well, Alec," he began.

"Yeah, I know," Freeman answered drily. "It wasn't a very long moment."

* * *

The studio was busy at this time of the day, and Straker enjoyed the brisk pace of the crowds as he headed toward the Renaissance Theatre situated nearby on the lots. The beautiful theatre had a small fountain out front and plentiful parking behind. Several movies had used it for scenes over the years, but its main use was for the Shakespearean Festival held there every May. Shakespeare had been his first foray into theatre as a teen, and he had wanted to encourage others to enjoy the Bard's works as much as he did. He'd begun the Festival the first year the studio opened, and it had a reputation after all these years as the highlight of the Shakespearean calendar year. He intended for it to stay that way.

He certainly hoped that the director's problem wouldn't be too hard to solve. The annual show was due to open later this week, and he'd been pleased with how smoothly things had gone so far.

He felt someone watching him and almost stopped walking. But instead he kept going, only his eyes searching out the area for whoever had him in their sights. He knew it was ridiculous to be so cautious. He was, after all, a studio mogul. As well as a well-known actor in his own right. So he should expect to be watched by the fans and other visitors to the studio. But somehow he was aware that this was different. He couldn't have said why. He just knew. So he searched.

And he saw her. She was standing near the entrance to Soundstage B, leaning against the wall in the shade. People passed by her, but she seemed unaware of them. Her eyes were focused on him.

He met those eyes and felt as if he'd been punched. She had straight black hair that fell in a swing to her jawline and accentuated the shape of her face. He couldn't make out the color of her eyes at this distance, but he felt the impact of them just the same. His reaction was almost visceral, and it annoyed him enough to have him lifting a brow at her.

Their gaze held for a long moment; then she nodded at him, smiling slightly before moving on, going into the soundstage as if she belonged there. He didn't think she did. He couldn't remember ever having seen her on the lots before. Something about her was ringing all his bells, and he was determined to find out why.

_After_ he solved the theatre director's problem.

* * *

"Well, Mike?" Straker asked as he entered the large theatre and saw the director standing in the main aisle talking with some of the crew. "What's the emergency?"

Campbell turned to him with such profound relief that Straker immediately knew that the situation was grave. It took a lot to ruffle Mike's feathers, as the commander knew from long experience working with him.

"Ed!" The director actually grabbed Straker's arm and hung onto it as if to a lifeline. "You've got to stop her!"

The commander shifted slightly, gently drawing his arm away as he looked around the theatre. The cast onstage were sitting on various props as if they were ready to wait indefinitely for things to get back underway. The crew were mostly in the aisles, some making a pretense at working since the Big Man was here, while others were clearly too upset to even think about how the show was supposed to go on, but stood in small groups talking in low, intense tones.

Straker sighed. One person was conspicuously absent from this scene. "What's the problem now?"

"She quit! Walked off the stage, and refuses to come back and rehearse!"

Straker frowned at him. "Why? She was fine yesterday."

Campbell ran a large hand through his grizzled hair, making it stand up in all directions. Usually it was dress rehearsal night before anyone saw him looking so frazzled. But it was just a little early for that this time. "She came in this morning with blood in her eye. If you ask me, she was looking for trouble, and insisted on finding it."

"I see." And he was afraid that he did. "I'll take care of it, Mike. Is she still in her dressing room?"

"Yeah." The director laid a hand on Straker's arm as he moved past. "I'm sorry, Ed. I'd say to hell with her, but . . ."

"Yes. '_But_'." Neither man needed to finish the thought: _But it's only three days till Opening Night_. The commander frowned again. "Her timing is certainly interesting." He patted Mike's hand once, then headed for backstage and the dressing room of their star performer.

Mike Campbell watched him go, wondering just what trick the commander would pull from his sleeve to get them out of this mess.

* * *

He knocked on the door of her dressing room and waited calmly while she checked the peephole to see who it was. When the door opened, he was relieved that she hadn't made him resort to forcing his way in. But none of that showed on his face as he entered the room. Clothing and costumes were strewn everywhere, and she had a half-full suitcase on the divan.

"What seems to be the problem, Donna?" he asked quietly.

"_You_ are!" she said, spitting the words at him as she tossed more clothing into the case. She had obviously built herself up into a fine rage.

"Donna, we are both professionals," he reminded her calmly. "We've done this show together for four years now and should be far beyond this kind of misunderstanding."

"_Misunderstanding?!_" Her grey eyes glittered with hate. "Is that what you call it? You threw me _out!_"

He sighed. "I did not throw you out," he corrected. "I asked you to leave."

"You _humiliated _me!"

"I was doing my best not to do so," he said gently.

She came over to him and glared up into his eyes. "What's wrong with me, Ed? Why don't you want me? Men _beg_ for me! They crawl on their knees to me and are thrilled to get the chance to kiss my toes!"

"I'm sure they do."

"But not you!" she spat. "Never you! Why, Ed?" Suddenly she sat down next to her suitcase, almost dislodging it from its precarious perch on the divan. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "Why?"

He might almost have pitied her if he hadn't been so aware that the tears were well-rehearsed. Four years was more than enough time for him to understand the workings of her mind. Actually, four _minutes_ had been. But she was an excellent Shakespearean actress.

"I think my taste must be at fault, Donna," he said quietly. "But I have always admired and respected you as an actress. We make a very good team."

She jumped up from the divan. "Team? Well, let me tell you, Ed Straker! I'm not interested in being on your _team_! You could have had me – _me!_ Well. Now you'll have nothing. _Nothing! _ Do you hear?"

"You signed a contract." His voice was still quiet, but steel had entered it.

However, she was too worked up to notice it. Or heed it. "Contracts can be broken!"

"Is that what you want?" The steel hardened.

She smirked at him, her look filled with gloating. "You can't afford to replace me now, and we both know it. It's almost Opening Night! You won't cancel Opening Night! And you already know what I want in order for me to stay and do the show. Be with me, Ed! Be with me, and all this will just blow over like it had never been."

He stared at her for a long moment, keeping a tight hold on his temper. When he could speak calmly, he said, "I'll send your driver around with the car." He left the room on her scream, closing the door just before it was hit by a heavy object.

Mike Campbell stood in the doorway at the end of the hall with his beefy arms crossed on his chest, obviously waiting to see the outcome of Straker's intervention. He gulped when he saw how grim the commander looked. This was not good news.

Straker said when he reached the doorway, "Her driver will be here for her shortly."

"Yes, sir," the director answered, only allowing himself to sigh once the commander had walked away. He hadn't asked what they were going to do without a leading lady for their show. He hadn't dared after seeing the look on his boss' face. Whatever she'd done or said, it had put her beyond what the commander would tolerate. And he tolerated a lot, Mike knew. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing once more in disgust for all prima donnas, and wondered if there was any way to salvage the production at this late stage?

**Chapter 2**

"Is there any way to make her fulfill her contract?"

Straker sighed. It wasn't the first time the question had been asked in this meeting, and he doubted if it would be the last. Several of the department heads at the studio were military, used to giving and obeying commands. They didn't understand the mindset of civilians, let alone actors. It was at times like these that he wondered how the studio had survived all these years?

He patiently reiterated what he'd already said. "No. We can sue – and we will -- for breach of contract. But we cannot force her to keep to the agreement she signed."

It was obvious from the grumblings following his statement that a few of the department heads wished they could employ more_ forceful_ methods in this instance. And he could sympathize with them. He would have dearly loved to personally wring her neck. But none of that would get his Festival going again. And that was much more important to him than a recalcitrant actress.

"So if Bella Donna won't do it, who can we get at such short notice?" asked Walker, head of production for the Festival.

Straker frowned at him. He disliked name-calling and discouraged it at all times. Even – as in this case – when it was brutally accurate.

"Donna McDowell," he said, stressing the actress' name, "will no longer be allowed on the studio lots. We need an alternative lead actress who knows enough Shakespeare to be able to be ready in two short days to perform for the public. I'm open for suggestions."

There was a short silence as the others realized that the fate of the Festival hung on their resourcefulness. Then there were many voices speaking at once as they came up with names off the top of their heads.

"Helen Mirren."

"No. She's on location in Finland for a murder mystery. What about Emma Thompson?"

"She's due in three weeks. We can't have a pregnant Juliet, for God's sake! What about Bryce Dallas Howard?"

"On her honeymoon. Fourth marriage," explained Walker, who had tried to get her for this year's production from the start.

"Oh. Well, then. What about Michele Pfeiffer?"

"No. She's in Australia working on a film till the end of June. How about Carol Reed? She just finished a film in Scotland and might be available."

"Her Shakespeare is not strong enough," Straker said firmly, and everyone paused, realizing that he would not accept anyone who didn't meet his stringent requirements for a Shakespearean leading lady. Several of those in the meeting bit back groans. A hard task had just become nearly impossible. There were only so many actresses in the world who met Straker's standards for Shakespeare.

A rather depressed silence descended, and no more names were proffered. Then Dennis said tentatively, "What about Reva?"

There were several gasps, then it seemed as though everyone was talking at once.

"Can we get her?"

"Does anybody know what she's doing now?"

"Will she even do a show where her name is on the marquee?"

"Well, at least she knows her Shakespeare!"

"Will she come on such short notice, do you think?"

"Who's her agent?"

Straker held up a hand, and the room quieted. He looked at Dennis Martin, a young production assistant who had spent the past three years working his way up the long ladder to the coveted post he now held in the Festival.

"Do you have a way of contacting her?" he asked quietly.

Dennis swallowed noisily. He wasn't used to being the focus of attention in this roomful of theatrical giants. "Yes, sir, Mr Straker, sir," he stammered. "That is, I have her cell. She always gets back to me right away if I leave a voicemail."

"Then I suggest you do so," Straker said and gestured toward the door.

Dennis hurriedly got to his feet, scraping the chair against the floor in his haste, and left the room to make the call.

In the silence that remained, Straker sighed as he looked around the room. Then he said, "Well, gentlemen? Any more suggestions?"

* * *

"Mr. Straker, Mr. Martin is here to see you."

Straker pressed the button on his intercom. "Thank you, Miss Ealand. Send him in."

Straker waited for the young man to enter the office, hoping that his impatience didn't show. The meeting had ended with only a handful of possible leading ladies, and none of them were the caliber of actress Straker wanted for the Festival. He knew that he could hardly expect to find what he needed at such short notice, and it angered him all the more that Donna had been aware of that as well when she threatened to walk out. How dared she try to blackmail him into bed! His fury threatened to overwhelm him at the thought, and it took all his effort to reign it in.

But how much he wanted to shove that smirk back down her scheming throat! If he could get Reva, that would effectively do it. Straker had never personally met her, but her reputation as a consummate Shakespearean actress was world-renowned. They even called her "Shakespeare's Daughter," because she had such a grasp on the inner workings of Shakespearean drama and wit.

Dennis Martin entered Straker's office nervously. He'd never been here before, and the thought of dealing one-on-one with the Big Boss terrified him. It was hard enough when he was in a roomful with other studio heads. But alone with the head guy himself? Oh, man. He hoped he didn't stutter.

"Dennis," Straker said calmly. "Won't you have a seat?"

"Th-thank you, sir."

Straker bit back a sigh. Surely he wasn't as much of an ogre as Martin obviously thought him? He smiled blandly, hoping to get the young man to relax. Only his fingers betrayed his impatience as they toyed with his pen.

"What were you able to find out?"

Dennis swallowed. "She got right back to me, as I told you she would, sir. She's very excited about possibly doing the Festival. She's hopping on a plane tonight and will be available to read for the part in the morning. If th-that's okay, sir?"

Straker sat back in his chair, nearly weak with relief. But his voice was brisk when he said, "Have a car pick her up at the airport when her flight arrives, Dennis. We'll put her in an executive suite at the Wessex Hotel and send a car around for her at 9 am sharp. I'll let Campbell know to be watching for her."

"Yes, sir."

"So," Straker said, setting down his pen. "She's excited about the Festival, is she?"

"Yes, sir." Dennis' head bobbed up and down. "I didn't know it, but she said she's always dreamed of someday being a part of the Festival. Sir."

Straker smiled. "Well. We'll hope that we can make her dream come true."

* * *

After Dennis left, Straker sat in his office and weighed his options. He didn't think that Reva would fail to please the director with her knowledge of the three Shakespearean plays they were performing this year at the Festival. And he himself was looking forward to working with a known Shakespearean scholar and actress. He considered himself to be quite knowledgeable about the Bard, so he was pleased to have the opportunity to work with someone else just as obsessed as he was. Donna may have actually done him a huge favor by causing this crisis. Maybe he'd send her flowers after Opening Night if all went well. Maybe.

But it was also possible that Reva wouldn't work out. She had a sterling reputation, but Straker knew firsthand how unreliable a reputation was. His own was mostly composed of smoke and mirrors. She also had some odd quirks that made her seem more mysterious than she probably was in reality. And Straker didn't need any mysteries running around his studio. The studio had enough mysteries of its own without adding any more.

But perhaps her quirks weren't really all that mysterious once he thought about it. It wasn't all that odd that she never played any roles except Shakespearean ones. Obsession wasn't that hard of a quirk to understand, especially when he could sympathize with her concerning it. If he had his way, he'd only play in Shakespearean productions himself. Shakespearean roles were so intricate and complex that they were a challenge for any actor. A challenge and a thrill. But the Bard didn't always transfer well to screen, and he was in charge of a film studio, after all. The annual Festival gave him the opportunity to indulge in his love for Shakespeare in a theatrical setting for a few short weeks each year while still allowing him to pretend to be a studio head the rest of the time.

Her other quirk was the one that was harder to understand. She refused any billing, nearly always getting her parts when other actresses were injured or otherwise unable to perform their roles. Straker himself had seen a few plays over the years where the standby had far outshone the original leading lady, but who had somehow never been announced by name. It was only after extensive inquiry that he had found out that these instances were the work of Reva.

He still remembered the performance that had opened his eyes to theatre at eighteen. It had been a production of _Romeo and Juliet_ put on by the local graduate college in Boston, and at the last minute, Juliet had come down with laryngitis. She'd been replaced with an unknown for the one night, the performance that he'd gone to with some friends. And he'd surprised himself by falling a little in love with Juliet before the final curtain. He'd returned the next night, but the original Juliet had been back, nowhere near as endearing as her substitute had been. He had never found out who the actress was who had replaced her, not until years later when he'd run into an old friend from Boston who'd been in the play. Reva, he'd been told. Her name was Reva. And by then he had known who Reva was.

Maybe she was shy and didn't want the attention being a prima donna brought. But actresses were rarely shy. It went against their natural tendency to perform before a crowd. It was more likely that she was hiding from something or someone in her past. Someone who would find her if she came out into the open with her acting. And if that were so, he wasn't sure that it was a good idea to have her here at the studio for any length of time.

But he wouldn't make any decisions rashly. He would bide his time and get to know her a little. Until he could be sure whether she was going to be the best thing that had ever happened to the Shakespearean Festival or the worst thing that had ever happened to the studio.

* * *

He had hoped to be able to arrive at the theatre before 9 am, so that he could observe as Mike ran Reva through the audition. But then reality, in the form of Miss Ealand, had stepped in. Miss Ealand had scheduled a full morning for him, as she had all this week. And last week, as well. When the head of the studio spent most of his evenings for a month rehearsing Shakespeare onstage, he had to double up on his regular work at other times of the day. So he tried not to show his impatience during his morning appointments. But by 11:30, his smile was getting rather thin. And it was just their bad luck that Donna McDowell's solicitors were his final appointment before the lunch break.

His smile was positively razor sharp as he welcomed them into his office and closed the door.

Miss Ealand had his luncheon delivered to his office as soon as the solicitors left, and in spite of his hurry, he found that he had worked up the appetite to do justice to it. Threatening lawyers always made him feel like a carnivore.

When he arrived at the theatre, he found that everyone was busy with last-minute tasks. He eventually located Campbell under the stage with a few of the assistant stage managers. They were discussing a problem with the trapdoor for the witches' scene in Macbeth, and he hesitated to pull the director away from that merely to ask him how the audition had gone.

But when Mike spotted him, he left the others with a wave of the hand to keep them working and led the commander back up the steps to the main backstage area, talking all the while.

"She's amazing, Ed! I've never seen anything like her recall! Did you know that you can call out any scene from any of the Bard's plays, and she can tell you all the lines, even the ones for the male parts? I've got to tell you, we hit a gold mine with this one. I'd heard she was good, but _man!_"

Words seemed to desert him at last, and he stood still finally, his hands on his hips, shaking his head in wonder.

"Where is she now?" Straker asked him.

Campbell frowned. "I'm not sure. She was getting fitted for her costumes last I saw. Rosie was in the dressing room with her. They might be done by now."

"Thanks. When will you need me this afternoon? I'm assuming that tonight you'll want to run through all of the scenes we have together?"

Mike sighed. It was going to be a long night. "Yeah. Can you get away by 3 pm?"

Straker grimaced. "Probably not. But I should be able to make it by 4. If I can get away earlier, I'll let you know."

"That'll work," the director said, not bothering to complain about the difficulties of time-crunching. His boss wrote the book on it. No one worked longer days than the commander.

Straker left Campbell to return to his work crew and went down the hallway toward the star dressing room. As he raised his hand to knock, he felt an overwhelming sense of _deja vu. _ Had it really been less than twenty-four hours since he'd last stood here and knocked? It had seemed a much longer time than that.

"Come in!" a voice called from inside the room when he knocked.

When he entered the dressing room, he saw two things immediately. One was that his new leading lady was sitting on the vanity stool while Rosie, the wardrobe manager, sat on the divan. And both ladies had their arms full as they worked over the costumes for the show. He was shocked to see a star performer sewing hems like a stagehand.

But his greater shock was that he recognized Reva. When she looked up from her sewing and met his gaze, he could easily see that she was the woman he'd seen at Soundstage B yesterday!

She smiled at him in a friendly way and said, "Hello, sir. Mike tells me that we'll be rehearsing our scenes together this evening. I'm looking forward to it. I've admired your technique with Shakespearean roles for a long time, so I'm really psyched about working with you on this."

"What's going on here?" he asked ominously. He had been unable to track her movements after he'd lost sight of her yesterday, but surely she wasn't going to try to pretend they hadn't already met? Was she working with Donna on some scheme to cause trouble? Or was there a deeper plot afoot?

Reva lost her smile and looked closely at him. "What do you mean?" She glanced at Rosie, who shrugged her confusion. "We're altering the costumes to fit me. I'm not the same size as Donna McDowell."

He brushed that away with an impatient hand and stepped closer, closing the door at his back. He couldn't help noticing that she had eyes the color of finest amethyst, ringed with black. He ignored their impact with an effort and said tersely, "Are you going to act as though we've never met before?"

She gaped at him in shock. "_What?_"

His lips thinned. "Yesterday. Soundstage B. I saw you watching me as I was coming to the theatre. Why were you here a day before you were sent for?"

"Mr. Straker . . ." She shook her head in bewilderment. "I'm sorry, sir. I have no idea what you're talking about. I've been in Athens for the past three days performing _Troilus and Cressida_ at the Acropolis for Francinelli. In fact, he's a little ticked at me for ditching the cast party after the last show, but I wanted to get here as soon as possible. You can call him and confirm if you want. I have his cell."

"Athens?" he asked coldly, considering for a moment. "You could have done it. Flown here during the day, then flown back in time to take the redeye flight back into Heathrow."

She looked at him in surprise. "Why would I do that?"

"You tell me."

Again she shook her head. "I have no idea. Mr. Straker, I spent my day yesterday rehearsing with the principal cast, then performing in an open air theatre to a crowd of 4500 people. Now, feel free to check it out. But that's where I was."

He held her gaze, trying to find what lay beneath her apparent sincerity. "You were here," he said firmly. But he was beginning to doubt his own senses.

She shrugged and went back to her stitching. "I don't know who you saw, Mr. Straker. But I didn't get here until this morning."

He opened the door to leave, then turned back for a moment. "Don't doubt that I will check it out," he said.

"Please do," she said, meeting his eyes, her own apparently unconcerned. Then her gaze shifted suddenly as she glimpsed something beyond him in the doorway, and there came into her expression at that moment an emotion that he couldn't define; it was gone so quickly. Then she looked back at him and shrugged. "I have nothing to hide."

"Right." He closed the door smartly and went down the hall, nearly colliding with Gray at the doorway.

"Sorry, sir," the operative mumbled, and Straker wondered vaguely what had brought him to this building. Wasn't he working with Louie Graham on the set of the period piece on Lot 6? But he had bigger worries than his staff at the moment.

_What was going on? _ If it had only been something he'd seen, he would have already apologized to her for his mistake. Anyone could make a mistake like that, he knew. Everyone had a double somewhere, at least one other person who resembled them to some degree.

If that had been all.

But he knew it had been much more than that. He'd _felt_ something when he'd seen her. Something huge, nearly overpowering. Something he'd been trying his damnedest to deny ever since it had happened. Something he certainly had no intention of exploring further. Something he was nearly certain she had felt too.

So why was she pretending it had never happened?

**Chapter 3**

"Well, Colonel?" he barked when she entered his HQ office.

Virginia sighed. She wished she had more to tell him. "There's not a lot of information on her, sir," she said as she handed him the report.

He opened the folder and read through the single sheet of paper with lips thinned ominously. "This is it?" he demanded when he'd finished, tossing the small studio ID photo taken that morning onto his desk.

"I'm sorry, sir. That's all we could find."

"You don't even have a birthdate for her."

She sighed. "I know. It's doubtful that Reva is her real name."

"What about her surname?"

"We've checked nearly every Maxwell born in the past fifty years. We haven't found anyone that even remotely resembles her. Yet. We're still looking. It would help if we had a clearer idea of her age."

He frowned. "She lists it on her contract as thirty-six, but I'm certain that's not right. I saw her perform onstage when I was eighteen, and her face looked nearly the same as it does today."

Virginia's brows raised. "Facelift?"

Straker shook his head. "No. Nothing quite that mundane, Colonel. I realize that she would have been in full makeup that night, but I would have recognized her anywhere. She looks the same."

She was intrigued. "Could she be a daughter? It wouldn't be the first time an actress tried to lengthen her career by creating her own double."

He reviewed his impressions of her. "No," he said finally on a sigh. "I don't get the sense of a separate personality, like you would with a double. Even a daughter. It's the same woman."

"How old was she when you saw her at eighteen?"

"I don't know. I'd guess in her early twenties. She was with the graduate college, so she could hardly have been any younger, even though she looked it for the part."

At his gesture, the colonel took a seat. "Okay. If she was at the lower end, say twenty, back then. That would make her forty-seven now."

"I've done the math, Colonel," he said waspishly. "_You_ meet her, then tell me she's forty-seven."

She wondered what this woman had done to make the commander so worried? But she wouldn't ask. Instead she said, "Well, I don't have any answers for you, sir. She seems to be a mystery all around."

"I don't like mysteries."

She looked up, fighting a smile at his utterance. He was scowling at the report on his desk, and she didn't think he was aware that he'd said anything out loud. "At least you now know she was telling the truth about her whereabouts yesterday."

He frowned at her for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. Which only increases the confusion. If she was in Athens, which Francinelli categorically assured me she was, then who was it that I saw here at the studio? It was her. I would swear that it was her."

"Does she have a clone?" the colonel asked facetiously.

His lips quirked, in spite of the fact that he didn't feel even remotely like smiling. "Now _that_ I might almost believe," he said unexpectedly. "It would certainly explain a few things about this whole situation."

Before she could think of a suitable comment to make, the office door opened and Alec entered.

"Hey, Ed!" he said on his way to the drink dispenser. "I thought you had a rehearsal with the new actress at four?"

Straker looked at the clock on the wall. "Yes. I'll head up in a few minutes." He turned to Col. Lake.

"Thank you for your help, Colonel. Keep looking."

"Yes, sir." She recognized a dismissal when she heard one and quietly left the room.

Alec came over and took the chair she'd vacated. "Been busy?"

Straker's lips thinned. "You could say that."

"Hey!" Freeman said as the commander closed the report with a snap. "Who's this?" And he picked up the black and white studio ID of Reva that had fluttered to the floor.

"_That_ is our new Shakespearean actress," Straker said between his teeth.

_Well, well! _Alec thought. When was the last time a woman had gotten under his friend's skin? Oh, yeah. _Never! _ He nearly rubbed his hands together in glee. "Well, she's a beauty, isn't she?" he asked innocently. Then his gaze sharpened. "Reminds me of someone."

"Oh, come on, Alec!" Straker said in disgust, holding out a hand for the photo.

He was ignored. "No. Really, Ed." Freeman stared at the photo, trying to place that face. "I know! Remember that bar I used to drag you to just off base?"

Straker frowned. "When we were in the Air Force?"

"Yeah. O'Flaherty's or something like that."

Straker sat back with a wry grin. "O'Shaunessy's," he corrected.

"Yeah, that's it," Alec agreed. "Knew it was an Irish name."

"What about it?"

"This girl looks like the one I hit on one night when we were there."

Straker shook his head. "Alec, you spent most of your time at O'Shaunessy's drunk and hitting on everything in skirts. How would you remember one girl on one night?"

His friend grinned engagingly. "Because this one wasn't biting."

The commander blinked. "You remember her because she _didn't_ fall for your line?"

Freeman shrugged. "Well, it was an unusual case."

Straker grunted. It was true that his friend was seldom – if ever – refused. Women seemed to fall for his easy charm at the drop of a hat.

"Yeah," Alec said now as he looked at the photo. "I remember her well. She sat there all night, sipping her drink and watching our table. But when I asked her to dance, she wouldn't have any of it. Just smiled and shook her head. Had pretty eyes. Purple or something odd like that."

The commander leaned forward suddenly and asked, "Are you certain?"

"What?" Alec came out of his reminiscences to find his friend staring grimly at him. "What?"

"Are you sure it's the same woman?"

"Jeez, Ed! That was twenty years ago! Of course, it's not the same woman. She just reminded me of her, that's all."

"Of course," Straker said, accepting the photo from his friend and looking at it for a long moment before putting it back into the folder, then locking the folder in his drawer.

"Hey, aren't you going to be late for rehearsal?"

"Hmmm?" Straker asked absently. Then he looked at the clock. "You're right. I'd better get going. You're in charge, Alec. Don't let the aliens take over while I'm gone."

Alec grinned as the commander left the office.

* * *

Reva as Lady Macbeth said, "Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond this ignorant present, and I feel now the future in the instant."

Straker, as her husband Macbeth, strode across the stage and took her hands, which she had extended toward him. He felt the connection then, even stronger than he had the day before when their eyes had met for the first time. It nearly made him stumble, but he kept himself firmly in line as he recited his lines. When they exited the stage moments later, he dropped her hands as though they burned him and headed for his dressing room to change for the next scene.

Reva stood a moment longer in the hallway, frowning as he disappeared into his room. Then she went into her own dressing room to change.

* * *

"O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf!"

Straker came forward into the spotlight. "It is my arm."

Reva as Rosalind drew closer and touched his bandaged arm. "I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion!"

"Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady," he said.

"Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed me your handkerchief?" she asked him, gazing into his eyes to see if he recognized her in her disguise as Ganymede.

He answered. "Ay, and greater wonders than that."

She said, "O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame:' for your brother and my sister no sooner met but they looked, no sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason, no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in  
the very _wrath_ of love . . ."

Straker could so fully sympathize with the problems of the two lovers that he almost missed his next line. But he remembered it in time, and the scene continued.

* * *

This was the scene he had dreaded all evening. The memories of that night in Boston, when he'd watched her play Juliet onstage, came flooding back, full of poignancy and a young man's heroic passion. It seemed now as though he'd begun to fall in love with her that night so very long ago. He would be doing himself no favors to do this scene with her now. But he could hardly refuse to rehearse it.

He took Reva into his arms in the darkness of the stage and felt the ache pierce through him as he noticed how perfectly their bodies blended into one. Then the spotlight hit them where they stood on the small balcony.

Reva trembled slightly in his arms, but hit her cue as Juliet. "Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: believe me, Love, it was the nightingale."

He was unable to stop himself from drawing her closer. "It was the lark, the herald of the morn,  
no nightingale: look, Love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:  
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die."

Somehow he got through the scene, although afterward it was all a blur in his mind. Later, he laid in bed for hours trying to sleep. But every time he started to drift off, he felt his arms go around her and woke up aching. Damn this attraction! Where had it come from? Why now? Why _her? _Didn't he have enough questions about her without adding raging emotions into the mix? He needed his famed objectivity in order to sort this all out. But he was fairly certain that it was gone -- lost as completely as poor Romeo, poisoning himself for love.

If he could just have a normal conversation with her. If he could get her to be honest with him, even for a little while. Maybe then he could figure it all out. But how was he supposed to have rational conversation with her when all he wanted was to touch her, hold her, merge with her until he knew her every thought and she knew his?

He sighed. The more he thought on all of it, the more he came to realize that there could never be a simple solution to the situation. Aside from everything he felt for her, too much about her made no sense. Who she was and what she wanted here were things he might never understand until it was too late. And there was simply too much at stake for him to risk becoming more involved with her.

Far too much.

* * *

"Wait a minute," Alec said when Straker came into his HQ office early the next morning. "I thought I was the one who was up all night working."

The commander poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it in one gulp. "You were. Don't you remember?"

"Yeah," his friend said. "But you're the one who looks like it."

Straker met the concern in Freeman's eyes and grimaced. He couldn't talk this over with Alec. His friend wouldn't understand. Or perhaps he would understand too well. Either way, he would over-react. And they didn't need that on top of everything else. "I had a rough night. I'll be fine. How did the night here go?"

"It was quiet. But we've got a small problem."

Straker looked up from pouring his second cup of coffee and frowned. "Oh?"

Alec shrugged. "I'm not sure how big of a problem it is, actually. It could be nothing."

"Alright. Don't prevaricate, Alec. Tell me."

Freeman sighed. "It's David Gray. He didn't show up for his shift. I had one of the guys drop by his flat to see if he was okay, but he wasn't there. And it didn't look as though he'd been there all night."

Straker said, "His car?"

"Well, that's the heart of it, actually. His car is still here at the studio."

"_What?_"

Alec nodded. "See, that's the part I can't make fit. I mean, a guy can go off on a bender or snuggle in with a girl and forget the world for a while. But he doesn't forget his car!"

"Do you have Security searching for him?"

"As we speak. But Ed, they've already covered most of the lots, and he hasn't been found yet." He didn't add that they probably wouldn't find him alive. They both knew it was the likeliest possibility at this point.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Straker asked.

"I don't know," Alec said with a shrug. "Two days ago, I guess. He was in the Control room during that last UFO attack."

The commander frowned. "He was? He shouldn't have been. He was off-duty until yesterday." He brooded for a moment, then said softly, "Yesterday."

"Ed?"

Straker looked up, meeting his friend's eyes. "I saw him yesterday. He was at the theatre. I thought at the time that it was odd, because I know Louie has him putting up walls for that period piece we're doing. He shouldn't have been anywhere near the theatre."

Alec sat forward. "So, what are we looking for, Ed? A missing operative that might have been killed by aliens on our lots? Or an operative that's already under their power and giving them information about us?"

"I don't know," the commander said slowly. "Frankly, it's hard to decide which scenario sounds worse."

"Well," his friend said, getting up from behind the desk and heading for the door. "We'd better find him then. One way or the other. I'll see how the search is going."

* * *

It was only much later, when Straker was in the middle of a studio writers' meeting, that he remembered the momentary look on Reva's face yesterday when Gray had passed her dressing room on his way down the hall. It had only been for an instant, hardly long enough to identify, and maybe he was overreacting to even be concerned about it. But the look had not been friendly. Of that much, he was certain.

**Chapter 4**

He cleansed off his makeup with an expert hand, hardly paying attention to what he was doing. Dress Rehearsal had gone badly, as dress rehearsals usually did. But thankfully none of the disasters that occurred had been his fault. That trapdoor was still giving them trouble, and he had set a crew to manually work it if it gave out again tomorrow night. Three of the principal cast had forgotten lines and had earned the wrath of their director. One of the props for _As You Like It _had broken and would need to be replaced in the morning.

And he'd ended the evening aching and wanting things he had no business wanting. Again. Straker sighed and met his own eyes in the mirror. He couldn't go on this way. Opening Night was tomorrow, and then they had a full week's run to get through before it was all finished. He'd go mad from sleep deprivation if he didn't go mad from repressed sexual tension first. Either way, his options weren't looking very good at present.

He drew on his shirt, buttoning it automatically as he considered. He had felt her tremble again in his arms tonight. It was possible that she was as much a victim of this cursed passion as he was himself. She hadn't said anything to him. In fact, she rarely spoke to him except when they were onstage for a scene. But he was fairly certain that she was avoiding touching him whenever possible during their scenes. A sign he recognized, since he was doing pretty much the same thing.

He put on his jacket with a sigh, straightening it as a matter of course as he left his dressing room. He'd made his decision.

When he knocked on her dressing room door, it was a moment before she called out, "Come in!"

He entered to find her in a robe, sitting at her vanity table, removing her makeup as he had just done himself. She met his eyes briefly in the mirror, then went back to her task. But he had seen enough.

He sighed and closed the door, going over to the divan and sitting down. From this angle, he could see her small waste bin under the table. It was overflowing with tissues. In that moment he envied her the ability to indulge in a good cry. "Can we talk?" he asked quietly.

She swallowed before meeting his eyes again. "Of course," she said flippantly, but the redness around her eyes betrayed her true state of mind. He had to remind himself that he was dealing with a consummate actress, and she was bound to use her talent to protect herself as much as possible. It would be instinctive. He needed her trust if he hoped to gain any kind of breakthrough with her. So. He would have to be the first one to lower his shield.

"You were magnificent tonight," he said softly.

Her hand holding the cleansing pad trembled and was quickly put to work cleaning her cheek before she spoke. "Thank you, Mr. Straker. I suppose you're tired of hearing how wonderfully you interpret Shakespeare's words and bring them alive."

He grinned ruefully. "I don't know that anyone could ever get tired of hearing such things, Reva. Please, tell me more."

She looked at him in surprise, then blushed and looked away. He could hardly believe it. Women didn't blush in this day and age. They were far too forward to know how.

She murmured, "This has been such an honor for me, you know. I've admired your work so much, and never more than when you were performing Shakespeare. I'm . . ." Here she stopped and swallowed before continuing. "I'm looking forward to working with you this next week. Very much."

Yes. Undoubtedly she was suffering as much as he was. Possibly even more, since she had no idea why he was resisting the attraction. He leaned forward and took her restless hands in his. "I'm glad," he said simply.

He could feel the fine trembling in her fingers, and when she met his eyes, he could see that she was aware that he could. "Mr. Straker . . ." she began, then trailed off. But he could see all that she couldn't say in her eyes. _Don't hurt me. Don't laugh at me. Don't overwhelm me._

He stood up, drawing her into his arms as naturally as if they had touched this way for years. He kissed her, using every ounce of his control to keep from overwhelming her. Fighting his own body's desire to grab hold and not let go. She melted into his embrace, moaning deep in her throat as he slowly deepened the kiss. She was trembling uncontrollably, clinging to him as he ravaged her throat. Or he was trembling, trying to retain some vestige of control. It didn't really matter which of them it was. Or even if it was both of them. She was so responsive that she was driving him mad.

He finally forced his arms to loosen their hold on her and took a deep breath. She looked at him with such a dazzled expression in her beautiful violet eyes that he nearly groaned. "I wanted . . ." he managed to say, then had to clear his throat. "I was wondering if you would share a late dinner with me?"

"Yes," she said softly, unaware that her fingers were touching the hair at his nape and sending fire down his spine.

He set her away from him before he succumbed to the need to take her right here, right now – and to hell with any sense of decency or decorum! "I'll just . . . give you a moment to get changed," he said as he went to the door.

Once he had gone, Reva collapsed onto her vanity stool, stared at her disheveled appearance in the mirror, and said weakly, "Oh, my!"

* * *

It was well after midnight before they dined alfresco on his back patio, feeding each other bites of shrimp as they talked about the Festival and watched the stars. Dinner had been forced to wait until other, more urgent appetites had been appeased. Straker was a little embarrassed at how quickly his control had deserted him once he had her in his home. But she hadn't seemed to mind. He still had so many questions to ask her, but he knew that now was not the time. Besides, he was waiting for her to tell him freely. Without him having to ask. He ran his fingers through her dark dark hair, enjoying its silky texture.

"Mmm." She closed her eyes on a sigh, and he could tell that she was enjoying his caress as much as he was. She was such a sensual woman. It amazed him that she seemed so unaware of her own appeal. But he had a feeling that her lovers had been few and far between.

"I didn't plan this," he said after a while.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Dinner?" she asked.

He grinned ruefully. "Any of it."

"That's alright. There's something to be said for spontaneity."

"I'm really not very spontaneous," he admitted.

She grinned at him. "You could have fooled me."

His lips quirked, but he quickly became serious once more. "I have a firm policy."

"I can imagine," she said, nodding sagely.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes," she said seriously. But her eyes twinkled in the darkness. "No fraternizing with the actresses."

"Hmmm. I suppose it was an obvious one."

"Very obvious," she said. "So, Ed. How does it feel to break the rules for once?"

He grinned. "Actually, I'm rather enjoying it. Although I shall probably hate myself in the morning."

She smiled, but then murmured seriously, "As long as you don't hate me."

"Hmmm?" he asked as he drew her closer.

"Nothing," she said, snuggling against his chest with a sigh.

* * *

He woke just before dawn and wondered momentarily if he had dreamed the events of the night when he found her gone from his bed. But her dress was still folded over the back of his chair, so he smiled to himself and got up to find her.

She was sitting on the grass just beyond the patio, watching the horizon for the first telltale signs of dawn. He came and sat next to her, fingering the robe she had on. "Are you warm enough?" he asked.

She smiled at him. "Yes, and even if I wasn't, it wouldn't matter. It's lovely here."

"Yes, it is," he agreed, wondering whether he thought so because it truly was a nice view or if it was because of her presence. _Got it bad, don't you, Straker? _he thought ruefully.

The horizon began to glow slightly lighter, and he tucked her closer so that they could enjoy the show together. But as the sun slowly ascended beyond the rim of the world, he was suddenly struck with an intense sense of _deja vu. _ He'd been here before. He was sure of it. With her. He held his breath, trying to get past the overwhelming feeling to the actual memory. He watched how the soft light of the new day traced over her hair, giving it a delicate halo.

And suddenly, he remembered it all.

He gasped and turned to her. "Chandra?" he asked, searching her eyes in wonder.

She reached up to trace the line of his cheek for a moment. Then she said, "I wondered when you would remember me."

"But . . ." His mind wouldn't take it all in at once. "I was eight!"

"Yes."

He met her eyes. "But it was you. I remember. You were crying."

"Yes." She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, much as she had that warm summer afternoon when he'd swum across the pond to his island and found her on the beach, crying as if her heart were breaking.

"Hello," he'd said, as though finding women on his beach were a normal thing.

She'd stopped crying and turned to him. "Hello," she'd said.

"I don't mean to interrupt," he'd told her. "But this is my island."

"I'm sorry," she'd said. "Shall I go?"

He'd shaken his head. "No. I don't mind if you come here. But could you tell me what's wrong? Maybe I can help." He'd held out a hand. "I'm Ed, by the way. Ed Straker. That's my house over there." And he'd pointed across the pond to where the rooftop of his family home was just visible through the trees.

"Hello, Ed," she'd answered gravely, shaking his hand. "I'm Chandra. You have a lovely home."

"Thanks," he'd said. "Why were you crying, Chandra?"

"I've just lost everyone I care about," she'd said. "And my home. It all overwhelmed me, and I needed somewhere to go so that I could be alone and cry it out of my system. So I came here."

He'd frowned at her, he remembered. Trying to understand the workings of the adult female mind. At eight, he'd been confident that he could. "Do you need to be alone?" he'd asked.

She'd shaken her head at him, her straight black hair whispering as it shifted. "I thought I did. But now that you're here, I feel better."

He'd smiled. "I'm glad." He'd come closer and sat near her on the beach. After several minutes, he'd said, "Last year, my mother died. I came here all the time to cry where no one would see."

"Did you?" she'd asked softly.

He'd nodded. "But I don't need to do that anymore. Maybe someday you won't need to cry anymore either."

She'd smiled sadly. "That sounds wonderful."

They'd sat there in a companionable silence for a long time. As evening had approached, they'd watched the sun set through the trees. He'd seen the way the fading light had played over her hair, then later, how the stars had shimmered in her eyes. And he'd told her all about his dream of someday being a spaceman like Lucky Starr and traveling around the planets helping people.

When he'd gotten up to go home, he'd told her that she could stay as long as she liked. "Come back anytime," he'd said.

"Thank you, Ed," she'd told him.

But she had never come back, even though he'd looked for her.

And now here she was, hardly showing any change in age from then to now.

"How could it be you?" he asked, not as though he didn't believe, but as though he couldn't help _but_ believe.

She smiled sadly. "You made such a difference that day, Ed. You'll never know how easily you just swept aside all the despair and anguish, and made me feel as though I wasn't really alone in the world. I had a friend. I had you."

"What happened to you, Chandra?" he asked, running a lean hand down her cheek.

Her lovely eyes swam for a moment, then she blinked them clear. "My world was under attack. My people had talents that made them special, and there were those who hated us for it. Nearly one-fourth of my people were able to walk through time, going wherever they wanted in the past, present, or future. We were called jumpers, and we were being killed because others wanted our talent, and when they couldn't possess it, they wanted to destroy it."

"How did you get away?"

She sighed. "My father was a Librarian. Our libraries were somewhat different than what you think of as a library. Our libraries had portals to other worlds, so that we could travel back and forth and study other cultures, other places. You see, jumpers can only walk through time in one localized area. You can't jump from planet to planet. But when we traveled through a portal in a library, we could jump anywhere within that world for as long as we were there. Does that make sense to you?"

"Yes. Is that how you got away? You went through a portal?"

She nodded. "My father . . . he had traveled often to other worlds. I'd been studying Earth, one of the places that he had enjoyed visiting. He'd had a big influence here, and I was intrigued by how many legends there were about him. And your people loved his plays."

Straker gasped. "You mean, your father was . . ?"

"William Shakespeare. Yes. They call me Shakespeare's Daughter, but they have no idea just how true that nickname is. It's funny. His works sound so different in English than they do in our language back home. And you should hear them sometime in Klingon!" She shook her head. "But when the attack came, it just seemed the most sensible thing to do was to come here, since I'd been studying your planet anyway."

"What happened to your father?"

She bit her lip. "Someone had to stay behind. To destroy the Library once everyone had gone through a portal. Dad was Head Librarian, so he stayed to take care of it. He wasn't the only one. All over our world, other libraries were doing the same thing. We had to get our people to a safe place, then make certain that our enemies couldn't follow us there."

She fell silent, and he marveled at the world she had described. Why anyone would want to destroy such a place, such a people, was beyond his comprehension. Finally she stirred and said, "So that's why I was crying when you found me on your island."

"And you've watched me all these years?" he asked in amazement.

"Sort of," she admitted. "Actually, I jumped forward to see what you ended up choosing as a career. I thought it might be nice to see what kind of man you turned out to be. Only . . ." She broke off with an embarrassed grimace.

Straker suddenly laughed. "You showed up the day before we would meet again!"

She nodded. "How's that for bad timing? I didn't even realize at first that it had happened that way. I couldn't figure out what you were talking about! Until I remembered. Anyway, once I saw that you were in the film industry and actively performing my father's plays, the rest was easy. I simply made myself available to any troupe needing a standby and slowly built my reputation as a Shakespearean actress."

"Why didn't you ever let anyone give you credit for your work, Chandra?"

She smiled softly. "Your world really likes to deify people. If I'd let them keep track of me that way, it would have been noticeable fairly soon that I wasn't aging normally. And how could I explain that to anyone's satisfaction?"

"Hmmm. When the truth was that you weren't aging at the same rate as us, because you were jumping over years."

"Yes. Actually, I sort of jumped back and forth a few times. It's hard to remember it all. You lose track after a while."

"I imagine you do," he said.

She looked at him closely. "You're awfully calm about all this."

He lifted a brow. "What do you mean?"

"I just told you that I'm an alien from another planet who's stowed away on your world, and you didn't even blink twice."

He smiled slowly. "Well . . ."

"Don't tell me!" she said. "You are still trying to be Lucky Starr."

"No," he said. "Not quite." But that thought made him think of others, and he finally asked, "Did you keep an eye on me when I was in the Air Force?"

She grinned, her violet eyes twinkling. "Somebody had to. You hung around a wild crowd."

He suddenly kissed her, wrapping her in his arms as if he would never let her go. When he could breathe again, he said, "I love you, Chandra. I don't know why I ever fought it. You seem to be my destiny."

She laughed. "Destiny? Oh, Ed! That's definitely the wrong word to say to a jumper! Don't you know there's no such thing?"

"I know nothing of the sort," he replied. "Everywhere I look in my life, you're there. If that's not destiny, what is?"

She opened her mouth to refute his statement, then closed it as she considered. "Huh. You may have a point."

He grinned, but soon became serious. "I need to ask you something. Just how dangerous is it for you to travel through time?"

She shrugged. "Not any more dangerous than it was for you to swim across your pond to your island when you were a boy. You knew the waters from long experience, so you could avoid any rough currents or undertows and keep to the safe zones. Time is like that. Sort of. It's difficult to explain to a non-jumper."

"No," he said. "I think you explained it very well. But what about altering time? Don't you change things every time you travel to the past or future?"

"Yes, of course. But everyone changes the world around them every day, just by living from one moment to the next. They make small changes, so most of the time they go unnoticed, but in truth all change is small when it begins. It only seems huge in retrospect. That's the same thing with jumping. They're all small changes, easily unnoticed."

"Would you consider jumping into the future for me? As a job?"

She looked at him in surprise. "What would you need me to jump for, Ed? Surely you don't care which films will win the Oscars next year?"

He smiled. "Actually, I had something else in mind. Why don't we get dressed and go to the studio? There's something there I want to show you."

"Oh?" she asked curiously. "Do you have another island, Ed, hiding on your back lot?"

"Something like that."

Later, as he pulled out of the driveway, he asked, "What did you do with David Gray?"

She looked at him in surprise. "How did you . . ? Ed, was he a friend of yours? I'm sorry, but you really didn't want him at your studio. His mind had been taken over by Thoelians. Who knows what kind of trouble he might have caused if I hadn't taken care of him?"

He shook his head at her. "You amaze me. What did you do? Kill him?"

She shrugged. "I simply jumped while holding onto him. Non-jumpers can't handle time travel, you know."

He eyed her with some respect. "Remind me never to make you angry."

She grinned. "Now you're being silly."

"Chandra," he said after a few miles. "What happens to a person who isn't able to handle a jump?"

"Their molecules rupture, and their atoms explode into infinitesimal pieces."

"Oh."

She grinned at his expression. "It happens so quickly that they really don't feel anything."

"That's good to know." After a few more miles, he asked diffidently, "You will let me know if I ever upset you, won't you?"

She shook her head at him. "_Very_ silly!"

**Chapter 5**

When they got to the studio, it was obvious that last-minute details were underway for Opening Night for the annual Shakespearean Festival. There was an added bustle around the lots that reminded the commander that tonight was a very important night of the year for the studio.

But to him, last night had been more important.

He helped Chandra from the car and led her into the main building. When he entered his outer office, he introduced her to Miss Ealand.

"Miss Ealand, this is Chandra."

"Reva," Chandra corrected him as she smiled at the secretary. "Hello, Miss Ealand."

Straker felt his face turning red. "Reva," he agreed, smiling weakly at his secretary.

"It's nice to meet you, Reva," Miss Ealand said calmly before turning to the commander. "I put your mail on your desk, sir."

"Thank you." He led Chandra into his office and went to his desk to check his mail. He pressed the button to close the door, then sat behind his desk. He looked at her as she took a seat in front of the desk and felt his heart swell with the rightness of having her here, of bringing her into his world. It seemed so odd that he had found the perfect mate for himself – not among the personnel at SHADO who knew and worked with him every day – but from the studio, where none of the actresses he dealt with had any idea who he really was. But Chandra knew him better than anyone. She was his guardian angel, after all.

She smiled at him across the desk. "This office is awesome! And very intimidating. You look quite terrifying sitting there surrounded by all your awards and accolades."

He grinned at her. "Do you think so?"

She nodded. "Oh, yes. Quite a seat of power."

He leaned forward to flip open the silver cigar case on his desk, his eyes twinkling wickedly. "You have no idea." He pressed a button inside the case, then said, "Straker."

A tinny voice emerged from the case. "Voice identification, positive. Commander Straker."

He pressed the other button in the case, then flipped the lid closed as the room began to descend.

Chandra grinned at him. "_Commander? _ What is all this, Ed? That sounds very military to me."

"Does it?"

She might have been concerned, except that his beautiful blue eyes were still twinkling at her, obviously enjoying her confusion. She shook her head at him and sat back. "You've been living a double life."

"I have," he agreed. The room stopped at the bottom of the shaft, and he stood up and came around the desk to lead her from the room. Before he opened the door, he grinned at her and said, "Do you want to see?"

She took his hand. "Oh, yeah!"

They stepped out into the corridors of SHADO.

Chandra gasped when she saw the large logo on the wall near the security desk. _Supreme Headquarters Alien Defense Organization_, she read. She looked at him in shock.

"No wonder my story didn't surprise you!"

"Oh, no, Chandra!" Straker corrected. "Your story surprised me greatly. But not because you were an alien."

She looked at him from the corner of her eyes. "You hid it well," she murmured.

He acknowledged it with a small quirk of his lips.

She stared at the sign a moment longer, absorbing the implications of all that it represented. It certainly explained a few things, including why the Thoelians were going after people in his studio. "Ed," she said softly. "Do you consider me a threat too?"

His smile was warm. "Of course not. Didn't I offer you a job?"

Her eyes widened. "You think I can help you deal with your Thoelian problem?"

"Absolutely," he said, unwilling to tell her just how much help she would be. Up until today, he had not even been aware of the name of the alien race they had been fighting for over ten years. Chandra was a godsend – in more ways than one.

She grinned at him and took his arm as they headed for the Control room. "Cool!"

* * *

Alec was in the Control room talking to Ford when they entered. He looked up in shock as the commander led Chandra over. "_Ed?_"

"Alec," Straker said blandly. "I believe you and Chandra have met."

"_Wha . . . ?_"

She held out her hand. "Hello, Alec. I'm Reva. So sorry that I turned down your offer to dance that night. It was nothing personal, I assure you. I just had other things on my mind."

He took her hand, but didn't shake it. Instead, he stood staring at her with wide eyes. "_Huh?_"

Straker patted his shoulder. "It's okay, Alec. Take your time. It may take a while to adjust." And he led Chandra away toward the door of his HQ office.

Col. Freeman stared after them a while, then met Ford's eyes. He gave a weak smile and said, "That was a joke – right?"

* * *

Since she had liked his studio office, he had known that she would approve of his HQ office.

"Wow!" she said, pausing just inside the doorway to look around the office with curious eyes.

He ushered her the rest of the way inside, so that the door could close. When he sat behind his desk and gestured for her to sit on the chair in front of the desk, she suddenly gave him a brilliant smile and said, "No. I was wrong before. _This_ is your seat of power!"

He kept his face straight with an effort. "Do you think so? There are no awards here."

She watched the play of color wash across the large light mural behind his desk for a moment before answering. Then she sat and said, "That's because you don't need them here to remind you of who you are. This is the real you, isn't it, Ed?"

"Still like me?" he asked, only half-joking.

She smiled warmly at him, obviously catching that small uncertainty in his voice. "Oh, yes. Lucky Starr, indeed."

He chuckled.

* * *

Sean Connery as Lord Capulet said, "O brother Montague, give me thy hand: this is my daughter's jointure, for no more can I demand."

Lord Montague, played by the redoubtable Richard Harris, spoke next. "But I can give thee more: for I will raise her statue in pure gold; that while Verona by that name is known, there shall no figure at such rate be set as that of true and faithful Juliet!"

Lord Capulet said, "As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie; poor sacrifices of our enmity!"

Then the Prince strode centerstage; Jeremy Irons at his most commanding. "A glooming peace this morning with it brings; the sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: for never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

They held their pose for a long moment, then the stage curtain fell to the sound of thundering applause. When the curtain was pulled up once more, the stage was bare but for these three men, who bowed. While the applause continued, Montague and Capulet signaled for their wives to join them, and these ladies came onstage to curtsey and stand with their lords.

Next the friends and kinsmen of the Montagues entered and bowed to the audience, while their counterparts from the Capulets also did the same. The stage was soon full, but the audience continued clapping unabated.

Finally, Romeo brought his Juliet onstage and took his mark front center. He met Chandra's twinkling violet eyes and raised her hand to his lips. At this, the audience stood and clapped all the more. Those who had been concerned when the news had gotten out that Donna McDowell wouldn't be in the show were overjoyed with her replacement. Even though there was no name beside Straker's on the marquee. Who _was_ this amazing actress? Tonight was surely the finest performance of Shakespeare that the studio had ever done.

Straker and Chandra bowed to the audience, their hands clasped as they received their reward for a job wonderfully done. And as he looked out over the packed house that continued clapping, Straker decided that he _definitely_ had to send Donna flowers in the morning.

**Epilogue**

"I'll go and get the boat ... wait for me, Dad."

Straker nodded as John opened the car door. "Alright, son. Don't be long."

"I won't!" John promised, running toward the front door just as it opened. He raced past his mother and on up the stairs to his bedroom. He ran to his closet to get his boat, but stopped suddenly and looked over at the window. There was a lady standing there, looking outside through a crack in the curtains.

"Hello! Who are you?" he asked.

She turned and smiled at him. "Oh, you must be John!" she said. "You look just like your father; did you know that?"

He nodded. "Yes. He's outside now, waiting for me. He wants to see my boat." He grabbed the boat from its spot on his closet shelf and held it up for her to see.

"Wow!" she said as she came to the bed and sat on the edge. "That's a beautiful boat. It looks quite detailed. You must have worked very hard on it."

John let her hold it, but bounced from foot to foot in impatience as she inspected the rigging and the main mast. "It took a long time to finish, but anything worth doing is worth doing right. That's what Dad says."

She grinned. "Yes. And your father's right. He will be very proud to see how well you did, I'm sure."

John ran to the window as he heard a car pull out of the drive. He opened the sash when he saw that it was his father's car and yelled, "Dad! Wait!" He turned back to the lady. "He's going. I have to go show him the boat."

But she said, "You should make sure that it's finished before you show it to him, John."

"But it _is_ finished."

She showed him a line of loose rigging. "Well, I don't think this string is supposed to just hang here, do you?"

He came closer and looked at the boat. "How did that happen? I was sure I secured all the lines. May I?"

"Of course." She gave it back to him and watched as he got out his glue and reattached the rigging line.

Once it was secured, he set it on his dresser to dry and gave a heavy sigh.

She said, "That was really good work. Now the boat looks perfect."

He turned to her sadly. "Yeah. But Dad's gone by now, and I didn't get to show it to him."

"Well," she said softly. "I'm sure he'll be delighted to see it when you visit next time."

"I guess so."

Just then, his mother's voice called from downstairs. "Johnny! Dinner's in just a few minutes. Come on down."

"Okay, Mum!" he yelled back, then turned back to the lady. "Are you joining us for dinner?"

"No," she said, her straight black hair swinging along her jawline as she shook her head. "But I'm sure we'll get to visit again sometime."

When she smiled at him, he couldn't help smiling in return. She had the prettiest eyes. "Okay then. See you!" And he left the room.


End file.
